


Would We Whisper Hand in Hand?

by babykid528



Category: Sense8 (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Male Character, Comfort, Dreamsharing, Emotional Transference, Fluid Sexuality, M/M, Mentor/Protégé, Multi, Questioning, Sleep, Telepathic Bond, Telepathy, Unresolved Emotional Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-02
Updated: 2015-07-02
Packaged: 2018-04-07 08:40:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4256808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babykid528/pseuds/babykid528
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The emotional repercussions of being sensate catch up with Will as he tries to sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Would We Whisper Hand in Hand?

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't been able to stop thinking about that scene where these two touch telepathically for the first time. And Lord knows I needed another rarepair OTP like I needed a hole in the head. :-P Anyway, this is me indulging myself.

Will tosses and turns, snagged in his bed sheets as he drifts somewhere between sleep and waking. Sleep does not come easy for him. Not anymore. Not with seven other consciousnesses rubbing up against his own, sharing anxiety, and fear, and worst of all love and lust across their bond.

He hasn’t been able to really think over that strange experience at the gym, the one where he could feel that nameless man’s touch, that man _being_ touched… Will didn’t think it was possible for someone to orgasm without ejaculating, but he’d felt it, he’d _done_ it, and he knew now that it was very possible he would do it again in the future.

If you’d asked him a few weeks ago how he’d feel about being involved in some kind of mixed-gender telepathic orgy, he’d have laughed in your face. Maybe even escorted you to the hospital. Obviously, telepathy was never on his radar before it became a reality for him. But even a mixed-gender _real life orgy_ would have been a laughable notion. It’s not that he’d never thought about another man before. He had. He was secure enough with himself to admit that. Maybe not out loud, but definitely he could admit it to himself, in this mostly-dream state.

He’d thought of other men, but none seriously. Not the way he thought about women, about one woman in particular these days.

Jonas had told him that he would feel things he couldn’t explain now though.

Will can still clearly feel the man he had touched and been touched by, that nameless member of his cluster. He can feel the way that man loves other men, one man in particular, and the emotional transference from that is significant.

Will’s thoughts slide back to Jonas. He wishes, not for the first time, that he hadn’t been so hasty in being a _good cop_. He wishes he had the chance to learn more, to get a better feel for what being sensate means, to get a better feel for how to navigate other people’s emotions, to get a better feel for Jonas in general, before deciding to hand him over to the apparent enemy.

The memory of Jonas’ face on their last meeting fills Will’s sleep-heavy mind, like a movie reel. The way he looked at Will while Will focused on Riley. It’s not something he noticed in the moment. His attentions were otherwise occupied, after all. But in the replay he notes the way Jonas’ eyes shone with the memory of love, the memory of Angelica. He remembers the small tug of a tired smile at the corners of Jonas’ mouth as he spoke, voice smooth and soothing in a way it had no real right to be.

And it reminds Will of the detention center, the first time he reached out and touched Jonas. And Jonas had touched him back. Had offered him that physical reassurance even telepathically.

Will can feel it then like it’s happening in real time. The slide of their fingers against one another, the way Jonas presses up against Will’s palm. The return of pressure fleeting, but firm. And suddenly Jonas turns that soft, sad smile on him. Turns those eyes, brimming with love, toward Will. Focuses them _on_ Will. And Will can’t look away. He doesn’t even want to. He just wants to lean in, get closer, pull from Jonas every comfort, every encouragement, every gentle word he can spare. He wants to lean in, wrap his fingers around Jonas’, instead of just brushing them together. He wants to hold him tight, hold on to him, pull him close. _Closer_.

“Will, the protector,” Jonas says to him, his kind voice somehow kinder than usual. “You’ve been so busy keeping them safe. Who is keeping you safe?”

“You are,” Will says in reply, shifting a little nearer.

The immediacy and conviction in those two words surprises them both.

“Am I though?” Jonas asks.

“You have to be,” Will says, a hushed rush of words. There is no acceptable alternative.

He clamps his hand around Jonas’s hand, giving in to his welling need, and pulls him forward just as Jonas mirrors the motion.

They crash together, a solid bump or bodies, fingers gripping tight to one another wherever they can reach. Will buries his face into Jonas’s neck, and he can feel Jonas do the same, feel his hair tickle his face, his stubble drag sharp lines across his sweat-damp skin, followed by the hesitant, chaste press of warm lips. Will pants, open-mouthed and hot against Jonas’ skin in return, soaking up the sharp, clean linen scent of him.

Pressed together they feel somehow much closer that they’ve ever been. So much more _unified_. Like they’re no longer two people, but one.

“You can only share within your cluster, Will,” Jonas says, breath ghosting across Will’s feverish skin. “We can visit, but nothing more.”

He punctuates the words with the sharp scrape of teeth and Will wakes, gasping, as he falls to the floor from his bed.

He is _alone_. Just as he was when he laid down. At least, he’s as alone as he can be these days with that swirl of his cluster continuing to brush against the back of his mind.

He rubs his hands over his neck, wiping away the phantom buzz of imagined touches, and he shakes his head to clear it.

“Jonas,” he says the name out loud after regaining his bearing. Those two syllables sound like a plea and make his mouth tingle and his half-hard cock twitch. He shakes his head some more.

“It was just a dream,” he reassures himself, rubbing his hands across his face now. “Just a fucking dream.”

He pulls himself up and lays back down in the bed, too tired to go retrieve the beer he wants, and he quiets his breathing and calms his body down.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this,” he says into the dark as he begins to drift off again.

\---

Far away, somewhere unknown, Jonas squeezes his eyes shut tighter, unwilling to let his sleep, his dreams, slip away just yet. All around him machines whir and beep.

“You will get used to it,” he whispers, all too aware of the cameras, electrodes, and microphones monitoring his every move. All too aware of the elevated heart rate and low thrum of arousal they are capturing.

Not for the first time since he was caught, Jonas wishes he was somewhere else.

It is the first time that he wishes he was somewhere else specifically, though.

He thinks Will’s name on a sigh, not daring to say anything more out loud for prying ears to catch, and he breaths slow and deep, settling back into sleep. He’ll need whatever rest he can manage if he’s going to honor the trust placed in him and protect them, protect _him_.


End file.
